I really like fantasy (low or high) and thriller. The orientation I'm most comfortable with is M/F (I can play as either gender), but I'm not averse to M/M, although F/F isn't my cup of tea.
What I offer:
- An open mind and heart for our collaboration, whether to discuss about the plot development, orientation of the characters, or our schedules and (un)availability.
:::::::: - A minimum of 3 lines per reply even on my worst days. Usually though I churn out 150~250 words per post. What the heck are "one-liners"? Don't demonstrate, nope, no thank you.
:::::::: - High self-expectations on English usage. I tend to beta read my own posts with a critical eye before putting the final draft up. All I ask from you would be English that doesn't lose to a typical eighth grader.
What I can't offer:
- Long posts exceeding 400 words. The only exception is the beginning of an entirely new or different scene/"chapter". I don't like to write overlapping conversations (i.e. your character's reaction is determined because I wrote the response already to your unwritten reply).
:::::::: - Very fancy BBCoding. Basic designing I can and will do (because I enjoy aesthetics too). Since I am always on-the-go these days, I don't know how my layout looks on the computer and I'm not interested to investigate.
What I don't want:
- Bloodbath and forced romance scenes. No spillage of innards, please. No uncomfortable shipping, please. Speaking of comfort, I will squirm and squick when things progress beyond kissing. Just keep it passable for a Disney Channel standard, as a rule of thumb.
:::::::: - Sore losers. Unpleasant situations can happen. Realistically they will happen once in a while. I don't want to interact with someone who has no impediment that really gives them strife. Try not to avert this too hard though by giving your character a ridiculously depressing backstory. Dead parents and being a kind-but-bullied "sass" is an overdone trope.
:::::::: - A yes-man or yes-girl. I'm not a mind reader so if you don't like my suggestion, offer a reason why and we'll keep brainstorming. All relationships need a little compromise, including those between two hobbyists. I assure you, I like a good challenge and hate a bad revelation. "I didn't and never like your idea but thought to be nice!" That kind of stuff? Don't pull it with me, ever. It's insulting.
Here is a sample of my writing. Estimate: 350 words.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled at the overwhelming presence. He felt an ominous gaze watching him, could sense a killing intent from his anonymous stalker, but pinpointing the exact direction was futile. Maybe I'm just paranoid like Mulong said?
He trekked faster regardless. Nothing wrong with being careful, especially in times like this ... Better to be safe than sorry. Leafre never minded too much when people called him a hypochondriac back in school to begin with. Maybe just a little ...
Amidst the rhythmic tapping of his feet on the cobblestone, there was a second set of footsteps mimicking his own.
It was an odd association, but the copycat footsteps seemed like the giggles of naughty children caught in mischief.
Knowing by now that his mind wasn't playing games with him yet again, Leafre kept his pose as small as he could and darted his eyes onto any reflective surfaces he came across. From the side mirror of a car parked by the roadside, the blonde could see a figure - either a really lanky man or tall woman - dressed in a pristine tuxedo trailing no more than fifty feet behind him.
The sight pulled a trigger in his head. His feet were already in wide, powerful strides before the chase even registered in Leafre's consciousness.
Suddenly, he wasn't just worried or uneasy. He was truly, inexplicably terrified. Recognition chimed loudly. Slenderman. Slenderman. Slenderman!
Of all times, his long legs that were the object of envy by other rivals in the dating scene foiled his escape, their betrayal in the form of a brutal sprain. He landed onto the surface with a sickening slam, part of his body colliding with the side of an elegant park bench.
Elegant. Tuxedo.
The frightened blonde raised his unhurt arm up in a last resort to fend off his predator. He couldn't find in himself the courage to stare at that ... monster, not in the eye. No. Not with his eyes right now - his vision was melting into a blurry sight. A baritone blaring horn swamped his senses, growing louder slowly and surely like a ship approaching the harbour. Leafre knew what it meant.
He wished he could melt into the ground and slink off to a sanctuary. The blonde kicked and pushed himself back (fruitlessly) instead.
"G-Get away from me!!" His voice pierced the sleepy night.
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